


[C] For Life

by OneofWebs



Series: Dark World Omegas (Good Omens) [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aggressive Crowley, Alpha Crowley (Good Omens), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Attempted Sexual Assault, Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Collars, Creepy Sandalphon (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Kidnapping, M/M, Mating Bites, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Nipple Play, Omega Aziraphale (Good Omens), Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Protectiveness, Rough Sex, Top Crowley (Good Omens), Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2021-02-12 23:08:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21484345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneofWebs/pseuds/OneofWebs
Summary: Crowley has been working odd jobs most of his life; he never really made it in the alpha world he was supposed to. It's one particular job that puts him right in the middle of one of those rich and powerful alpha things he hated--Mounts. Where alphas displayed their about-to-be-mated omegas for the pleasure of other alphas. This time, that omega just happens to be Aziraphale. When Crowley learns that, he makes a few poor decisions in the name of rescuing Aziraphale.After all, he'd always liked Aziraphale.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Sandalphon (Good Omens)
Series: Dark World Omegas (Good Omens) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1846345
Comments: 37
Kudos: 602





	[C] For Life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mutemail](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mutemail/gifts).

> I may or may not have fallen in love with this universe created so like. That happened. Good thing 2b in love with ur own fics, I suppose.
> 
> Forge on. There's nothing really to be worried about down there except for the description of sex trafficking and attempted assault.

If one was an alpha who roamed in the high roller rooms, the clubs, and among the finer things—this was the party to be at. The party of a decade, really. Mounts didn’t happen often, but when they did, the whole underworld heard about them, quickly. If one was lucky enough to receive an invitation, one was almost obligated to attend. If that Mount was hosted by one Sandalphon Blanche, it was considered a horrid dishonor to _not_ show up. Sandalphon hosted the most extravagant of Mounts, and his omegas were always worth the entry fee.

Sandalphon Blanche was head of the Blanche Corporation, which was well on the way to owning the world. He was a man who, if he wanted, could have had an entire harem of omegas. Whatever type he wanted—male, female, fat, skinny, tall, short, exotic; the biggest mystery of Mister Blanche was how _few_ omegas he seemed to have. But that was the point of the Mount, now. To show off his conquest. He had five omegas, already. It had been five Mounts in five almost consecutive years. Now, it had been nearly a decade since Sandalphon had hosted a Mount. Eight years, to be exact.

Now, on one Summer night, Sandalphon was hosting his sixth mount. For the debut of his sixth omega. It was a customary thing, especially among the powerful, to show off their new omegas before they were officially bonded. The Mount was intended to trigger a heat, thus making a mating possible and quick. Maybe newer, younger, _poorer_ generations didn’t care for Mounts, but they were such a fun and exquisite time. Sandalphon’s closest friends and most respected allies would be invited to his manor for an evening of food, wine, and fucking.

Namely, fucking his new omega. Sandalphon had a reputation of taking in the omegas that weren’t so _valuable_ and making them worth their weight in stock shares. He’d done it six times before—though, many people just counted at five out of respect. Five omegas. Five Mounts—never six, even if six was the proper number. She had been a feisty omega, too feisty for anyone other than Sandalphon to see any worth from her. She’d had an unfortunate encounter with raw fish on one very extravagant night at the Blanche house, and she’d died some days later. She left behind a son.

Out of respect, this new omega would be omega number six. This would be Mount number six. And every alpha in Sandalphon’s close circle was excited for it. This omega must have been harder to break, harder to train. It only meant that the reveal, the reward, would be all that much more spectacular. All the more _worth_ the entry fee. Sandalphon had even called in all the most expensive services—the food, the staff, the decorating. At the center of the grand room was the main attraction, a stage that hosted a breeding stand.

One Anthony J. Crowley had not been cordially invited to this Mount, and if he had been, he would have given the biggest bout of disrespect that he could by not attending. However, he was on the wait staff that had been hired to serve for the event, in conjunction with the catering company. Crowley had no choice but to be at the event, even if the very idea of these Mounts had always left him feeling a bit sick in his stomach. He needed the money.

Crowley had been working odd jobs ever since he’d passed the bar exam. He’d gone through undergraduate school. Law school. The exams. The certifications. The licenses. Crowley had been a lawyer for all of one day, after he’d been told that, under no circumstances, was he to take an omega’s case. He’d quit, after that, and spent the years since working odd jobs. He’d been a waiter for three months, and he was already considering quitting.

He’d never been to a Mount before, but he’d heard of them. He and the rest of his co-workers hadn’t been told ahead of time what this event was, but the breeding stand on display in the middle of the room was all the hint that he needed. There were videos online, forums that talked about these things. Crowley had thought them all to be disgusting, but he’d _seen_ the videos, read the forums. It was how he knew to be disgusted.

The only video he’d seen involved taking the omega up onto one of those stages and _ripping _his clothes off. The poor boy couldn’t have been older than sixteen, and he was so terrified that he was shaking. He’d been forced down over the breeding stand, strapped down—Crowley had clicked away from it, then, and made sure to never speak to the person who’d sent that to him, again. He never thought he’d have to see something like that in real life, and maybe, he’d been wrong.

Always one for positives, Crowley had at least tried to look _nice_ for the event. He’d been told it was a high-end, formal, black-tie sort of thing. He’d worn his best leather shoes, pulled his hair back into a half-bun, and made sure he’d ironed his uniform. Entirely white, with a black tie and black pants. While he may have looked just like the rest of his co-workers, he pulled off _attractive_ better than they did. It was his secret weapon.

Crowley was an alpha. Nobody had to know that, and he was very good at hiding it to avoid the scrutiny of strangers. Alphas weren’t supposed to be working at beta companies, doing odd jobs—they were supposed to be like Sandalphon Blanche. His _hobby_ was running Blanche Corporation. His _job_ was breaking omegas. Sandalphon was even praised for his expert handling techniques; his omegas were always behaved and in their place.

Crowley, with no interest in being an alpha like that, pretended he wasn’t one. Made things easier for him, like this. It meant he could walk in a room full of them and not a one looked towards him. Some alphas would say that it made him _weak_, but it was a practiced skill. He didn’t need to go around advertising what was between his legs, because everything else he was, was just as good. Except the part where he worked odd jobs, but he hadn’t been expecting to ever find an omega.

Wanting an omega, in this world, meant that an alpha was looking for property, a servant, a breeder. Not a partner; Crowley had been mocked relentlessly in his youth for wanting a _partner_. He wanted to love someone who loved him back, to cherish it all in the perfect, picket-fence picture. That wasn’t the world he lived in, so he wouldn’t follow their rules. He was quite well and happy to live the rest of his life alone, if it would spare whatever omega stuck with him a life of unwanted servitude.

Well. There had been _one_ person Crowley had wanted, once. They’d been too young to know anything about alphas and omegas. Crowley longed for a time, like that.

The hors d'oeuvres were to be served around the room before any announcements were made, before the party truly got underway. As was customary, Sandalphon would announce his omega, and Crowley hoped to be nowhere near the stage when that happened. He’d use that as a convenient time to duck back into the kitchen to prep for the formal dinner. He didn’t want to watch Sandalphon parade his omega around like a piece of meat. Especially not after the omega was sent off to _prepare_ for the main event.

If Crowley was there for the main event? He’d rather just lose his job immediately. He didn’t have a job to watch omegas get raped like it was some kind of honorable sport thing. The worst part was that they called it _tradition_; their ancestors practiced this as a way to honor their omegas before omegas were bonded permanently. Crowley thought it was all disgusting. A bond mark happened once. It should have been special. Not the horrid consequence of a party rape.

Crowley had his plate of hors d’oeuvres. All he had to do was walk the room until it was gone, and he’d be able to disappear back into the kitchens. If he was sneaky enough, he could stay there all night. He’d get his paycheck at the end of the week, and he could go home with only a slightly guilty conscience. It was _supposed_ to be that easy. Everything was supposed to be that easy, but Crowley had never been one to catch a break.

The whole room was full of alphas, but the first standing-table that Crowley stopped by was occupied by _those_ types of alphas. They truly believed that omegas were born to be mated, bred, and locked away. That they were entirely worthless. Their appearance here was honorary alone—even where the alpha community generally respected what Sandalphon did, these did not. They thought worthless omegas were always worthless.

“I hear this is an _old _omega,” the first alpha said.

The second alpha laughed. “All of Sandalphon’s omegas are old.”

“Usually not mounted this old, though. Remember the last party we had?” the first alpha let out a laugh, plucking one of the little crab cakes off Crowley’s tray. They had barely noticed him. “What was that kid’s name?”

“Newton,” the third alpha chimed in. “Rough story, that one. Sixteen at that Mount—that was a good party.”

They’d all taken their crab cakes, and Crowley struggled not to grimace. Not to say something, really. _Sixteen_ was too young. In the normal world, where there were normal people and not disgusting old men with their old money, omegas were still bought and sold like cattle, but that selling wasn’t allowed to start until _eighteen_. The rules didn’t apply, here. Not in this world.

“I hear this one’s fat,” the first alpha, again, mocked. “Hope its cunt makes up for it.”

“I like them fat,” the third alpha chimed. “More to grab onto, and they bruise so easily.”

The second alpha snorted. “This one’s not just fat though. I see the omegas you fuck, that’s hardly fat. This one’s _fat_ fat.”

The third alpha grimaced.

Crowley disappeared, after that. He walked to the next table, a table of alphas far too busy drinking to be discussing the prize of the evening. Most of the alphas were too busy to discuss the omega, because omegas weren’t special to them. They’d talk and whoop and holler during the _event_ of the night, when they could all line up and take turns fucking the poor thing. Until then, they ate like pigs and drank the same. Crowley was disgusted.

Thankfully, his tray was empty after a whole twenty minutes. The bare minimum was complete, and he could duck down to hide in the kitchens for the rest of the night. It was a good thing. Just as Crowley pushed through the doors, away from the main room, he could hear an announcement about to be made. He didn’t want to stick around to _see_ the omega standing up there, about to realize the full consequence of their fate. The very idea had Crowley’s jaw aching.

He disappeared down in the kitchens, and really, the kitchens were no better. Crowley hated alphas at the best of times, and he hated betas at the worst of times. Betas didn’t have to live in this world, if they chose not to. They worked normal jobs, lived normal lives, and had normal children. They didn’t know anything about this world, for as little as they lived in it. The very idea that they would _talk_ about it like they knew had always made Crowley sick.

That’s what he’d walked into. The head chef was a beautiful beta woman who had her whole life ahead of her as a respected adversary in the cooking industry. She would find a wonderful spouse, maybe have or adopt a child, and things would be well for her. That was the thing she couldn’t see, because she spent her life catering for Mounts and for rich alphas—to the point where she _craved_ the life. Whether it be as the alpha or the omega, she wasn’t even picky. She just wanted for something other than she had.

Her sous chef agreed with her, which was even sad, because the poor woman had a crush on the head chef. Crowley could _smell _that a mile away. Betas weren’t particularly known for their pheromones or sense of smell, but they existed. If one was an alpha like Crowley, betas were almost as expressive as the rest of everyone. Whatever the head chef wanted to be, her sous chef wanted the opposite—and Crowley thought it all smelled disgusting.

Crowley began his new hiding disguise as a dishwasher. There were plenty to dishes to wash, including his own tray, so it would take him a bit of time. It meant the cooks wouldn’t have to do it, so he was sure nobody would complain about his appearance. That, and it would keep him away from the party. It was an ongoing sort of thing, so there were bound to be _more_ dishes. Surely.

Except, Crowley was rather good at washing dishes. It wasn’t a difficult thing, at the best of times, and this was a real industrial sized sink. It made washing dishes a breeze. By the time the applause of the main room was echoing down to the kitchens, Crowley had already _finished_ all the dishes. He’d been washing the tray he’d used for the past five minutes, alone, desperate for anything to keep him from having to go back. Especially now that things were truly getting underway.

If he had to go up there _during_ the main event, because alphas got hungrier the harder they fucked, Crowley was sure he would jump off the bridge on the way back to his flat. Washing one tray wasn’t going to work, but he was certainly going to stretch out his time as long as possible. He _wanted_ it to work. He was already drafting his resignation letter in his head—effective immediately. He wouldn’t risk having to wait on more alphas at more Mounts.

The only issue was that Crowley didn’t have a good dishwasher disguise. He was still dressed up in his white suit like the rest of the wait staff. When one of them came down, not an actual manager, but the one of them who had been designated in charge for the night, he wasn’t blind to Crowley’s appearance. The cooks had let him slide because he was doing their work for them, but it also meant they were one waiter down. There was food that needed to be served.

“Hey, Anthony, what on earth are you doing down here?”

Crowley fumbled in the sink at the sudden sound of his name. He reached over and quickly turned off the water, setting the tray off into the drying rack.

“I was, uh, helping,” he replied, vaguely. He turned around to face his for-the-night-superior.

“Yeah, funny,” the man snapped. “They need your help setting up the dining room. All those fucks want to eat after they’re done.”

That wasn’t so bad, Crowley thought. It was better than serving more finger snacks while those fucks were fucking. His only real goal was to stay out of the main room and setting up the dining room seemed a perfect distraction from it. There were plates to be laid, silverware to be polished, glasses to inspect. Crowley might even get to set flowers for the table runner. He’d pick flowers fresh from the gardens if it meant that he wouldn’t be sent back to the main room.

Crowley left the kitchen and took a right. He made his way down to the staircase, and from there, he’d take a left down the hall. The dining room was on the same level as the main floor, just on the opposite end of the hallway. Crowley should have turned left, when he hit the top of the staircase. He should have. But the scent of _distress_ slapped him. The _sound_, then. Crowley was an alpha; he was _designed_ to respond to this—an upset omega.

So many alphas seemed able to turn that off, but Crowley never had been able to. The smell, the sound, the feeling of rot in the hallway. He turned right, and the sight was horrible. Those three alphas he’d heard talking at their table where crowded around that omega—Crowley could smell the omega. The distress. The fear. The _pain_. Crowley couldn’t have overpowered any of them on his best day, let alone all three of them at once, but he couldn’t turn away.

He watched as one of the alphas shoved the omega up against the wall, his face planted into it. There was a collar around the omega’s neck, a beautiful, ornate little thing, and it meant that _he_ was the event of the night. He was Sandalphon’s new, old, fat omega—and he was surrounded by three alphas, all of which had sounded disgusted by his presence. There was the smell of slick, of _heat. _They weren’t so disgusted, now. One of them had him pinned to the wall, another had their hands down, trying to get at the hem of his dress.

Crowley stalked closer. His instincts were going haywire, he could feel it. There was this urge, this primal need to _pounce_, not so well disguised by his need to _protect_. That was an omega in heat. An omega being attacked. Crowley was having trouble seeing through the muddled wants, but that was just when he _saw_ the omega. That messy mop of white hair, that upturned nose, blue eyes.

All at once, Crowley realized something horrifying. He recognized that omega. That omega’s scent, his face, his hair. That omega had grown up down the street from Crowley, when they were too young to know about things like alphas and omegas. Crowley had even _loved—_no. It wasn’t about love. It was about ownership. It always had been. But god, if Crowley’s heart didn’t beat a bit faster.

A sudden jolt of adrenaline hit him, a sudden jolt of need. If he did nothing else in his sad excuse for a life, he would save this omega—he would save Aziraphale. He remembered the name, the face, the everything. He remembered how much he’d wanted Aziraphale, how much he’d dreamed about him, how he’d _disappeared_. Eight years ago, Aziraphale was gone. Now, he was right there. Pressed into the wall with strangers’ hands on his body, because they couldn’t wait their turn. It made Crowley’s blood boil.

Crowley knew, head to head, he wouldn’t be able to take any of them. Surprise was his only element, and he had it strongly. He lunged at the closest alpha, then, in a sudden shout and rush of limbs. He may have not been as big, but he was just as tall, and getting his arms around the alpha’s neck was easy. Crowley threw himself back, taking the alpha with him, and just barely managed to scramble enough to get out of the path of a falling man. That was all he needed to do. He could see Aziraphale—there would be time to dream about him, later. How beautiful he was.

Crowley reached out and grabbed Aziraphale’s hand before anyone had a chance to reconcile what had happened. All Aziraphale knew was that he was being _saved_, and he didn’t question who his savior was. But Crowley could smell it almost immediately. Aziraphale had to recognize him for that safe feeling to fill his nostrils all at once. An immediate trust. When Crowley yanked, Aziraphale followed without hesitation. They were off, down the hall, before the first alpha was even off the floor.

“W-wait, I can’t—” Aziraphale gasped out.

“Just hold on!” came Crowley’s snap. Aziraphale’s lips shut immediately, and it stung.

Crowley couldn’t stop to apologize, to make things right. They had to run. They had to get out of the house as fast as they could, before anyone knew they were gone. The alphas would come after them, and by the time they caught up, there had to be nothing to catch up to. Once they were safe in Crowley’s car, there would be plenty of time to talk, to explain, and to get Aziraphale somewhere safe. His heat hadn’t quite hit fully, but it would.

They took a right down the next hallway to circle back. They had to get to the stairs, and thankfully, the alphas were following the stupid circle. They weren’t there, where Aziraphale had been attacked, by the time they came around. Crowley dragged Aziraphale down the stairs, two flights, and out the exit door. Sandalphon’s house felt more like a hotel than it did a house, but it made for an easy to escape. That, and Crowley certainly had parked like it was a hotel—on the grass.

Crowley stopped at his car, a classic Bentley, and fumbled for his keys. Every fine motor skill he’d had had flown out the window, but he managed without dropping them. He got the thing unlocked and Aziraphale into the backseat. Crowley climbed into the driver’s seat, locked all the doors, and took off without even a glance back. He didn’t want to know if they were being followed. That wasn’t the issue. As long as he could get _out_ of there—it was just one more think Crowley hadn’t taken the time to think through. He never took the time to think.

They’d been driving for all of two minutes before that sudden rush of heat-scent hit Crowley again. Aziraphale had made such a groaning noise that Crowley couldn’t help it when his body started to react. That wasn’t a distressed omega, anymore. That was just an omega in heat, who desperately needed relief. Crowley was _particularly_ equipped to give an omega relief, but he couldn’t be thinking with his cock. Not when that was Aziraphale, who had just almost been passed around a room of alphas.

The thought made Crowley sick. It had always made him sick, but this time, he could taste the bile in his throat. That was _Aziraphale_. He’d known Aziraphale when they were children. Aziraphale had always been such a happy little thing, always bright and cheery. His favorite food had been pancakes, of all variety, and he’d always had a book with him. Crowley had always been sure Aziraphale was just _born_ with the knowledge to read; it seemed to fit him. He’d come from one of those slightly crazed families, and that accounted for the name.

Eight years ago, Aziraphale had disappeared. He and Crowley had stopped talking before that, but Crowley still _heard_. His parents had been so distraught that they’d contacted everyone that they’d ever known, just in case. Crowley still remembered when his mother called him to tell him the news. Crowley still remembered how dark it’d made him feel.

Aziraphale’s groaning from the back seat broke Crowley’s thoughts. Crowley shifted the rear-view mirror to look back at him, how he had laid himself out flat on the seats. Aziraphale was wearing that beautiful collar, and it had a ring on the front of it. From that, his dress was draped. It was a beautiful ombre-blue, where it was near white at the top, and dark at the bottom. He wasn’t wearing any shoes, either, or anything else. It was an outfit designed to be ripped off of him.

“You’re—” Aziraphale tried. He breathed, curling his hands at his chest. “You’re Crowley.”

Crowley grunted in response.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale _moaned_ his name. “Crowley, I remember you. You—you lived down the street. You walked me to school.” When he could still go to school. When Aziraphale had presented, at twelve, that was the end of his education. Aziraphale had always been smart, though. He had his books.

“Shocked you remember,” Crowley muttered. He wasn’t shocked. He was pleased about it. He remembered, too, of course.

Aziraphale shifted then, whimpering to himself. “Oh, Crowley, it hurts,” he whined. “You have to help me.”

“I can’t,” Crowley growled. His cock was saying differently. His _cock_ was telling him that he had a fertile, heat-ridden omega in his car, and it was a disservice not to use him properly.

“Crowley, _please_,” Aziraphale gasped. “I need you; I need you, please. I can’t—I can’t, I can’t! I need an alpha, please.”

Crowley bit down into his lip.

Aziraphale moaned out Crowley’s name again, and when Crowley stole a look in the rear-view mirror, he watched as Aziraphale thumbed over his own nipples. They were hard and perky through the fabric, and just the touch had Aziraphale shivering to himself. He smelled of heat and slick—like the sweetest thing Crowley had ever smelled. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right.

“H-He was going to have me mounted,” Aziraphale gasped out. He pinched at his own nipples. “I—I didn’t want it, Crowley. You have to believe me. I’ve never—I’ve never been with another alpha but him.” Sandalphon, Crowley’s recent memory helpfully supplied.

“He was going to mark me tonight,” Aziraphale continued. “It’d be official, after that—oh, I’d be his—I couldn’t get out. I can’t. You have to help me; it hurts so _bad_, Crowley.” Aziraphale shifted in the back seat, laying on his side so he could reach up over the front seat and put his hand on Crowley’s shoulder.

Crowley bit down into his lip _harder_.

“You can’t leave me,” Aziraphale whimpered. He had his hand on Crowley’s neck. “You can’t take me back there, please—he’ll _hurt_ me. All he ever did was hurt me, oh, Crowley—please!”

“I won’t take you back. I’ll take you somewhere safe.”

“I’ll _never_ be safe, no, no, no,” Aziraphale cried. He had a hand down between his thighs, now, working over his mound through his skirt. “I need—I need your mark, Alpha, please. Bite me, oh—fuck me, take me, it hurts so bad.”

Crowley nearly drove into the sidewalk, at that comment. Aziraphale couldn’t be in his right mind, no. It wasn’t possible. There’s no way he would ever ask _Crowley _to mate with him. Crowley was a deadbeat. Crowley wasn’t any sort of alpha, himself. Nothing desirable. Nothing good. Aziraphale was _everything_—there was no way he’d want Crowley.

“I—I know I’m not very good.” Crowley’s heart dropped. “I can’t cook. I’m messy. I’m fat. But—but you don’t need to keep me, Crowley. Oh, _please_,” Aziraphale moaned. “Just bite me, bite me—I’ll leave after that. I just need a mark, please. It’ll keep him away from me—” Sandalphon. “You can go about your life, please. I won’t demand anything from you. You can—you can find your omega; I won’t stop you. _Please_, I just need you to bite me, oh—” Aziraphale broke off in a sudden moan.

Crowley took a sharp right into the closest alleyway he could find. He didn’t stop until they were deep enough down the way that nobody would be able to find them, unless they looked to close, and then he stopped the car. He turned in his seat to look back at Aziraphale, who was flushed face and looking at him. With the sudden shift, Aziraphale could strum his fingers over Crowley’s cheek, and the warmth of his skin had Crowley shuddering.

“Please,” Aziraphale whispered. “Don’t leave me.”

Crowley didn’t have to be asked again. He couldn’t control himself. The instincts were taking a hold of his mind, and even if he _wanted_ to continue to drive, he couldn’t. Not with a needy, leaking omega on his backseat. Crowley was an alpha—it was his _job_ to take care of an omega in heat. This one was begging for him, for his knot, for his mark. Aziraphale wanted him, and Crowley wanted him, too. All he could do was tear out of the front seat to climb into the back.

Aziraphale immediately laid out on his back, his thighs spread; he made a perfect place for Crowley to be, close enough that Crowley could close the car door, and they were pressed up against each other. Crowley braced himself with his hands around Aziraphale’s head and just _stared_ at him, for a moment. Aziraphale. He was beautiful. Crowley couldn’t believe the things he’d said about himself, and he could barely believe that Aziraphale wanted him. It was just the heat talking—Aziraphale hadn’t asked for anything.

That wouldn’t stop Crowley, though. Nothing would stop him, now.

He leaned down and stole a kiss from Aziraphale, a hard one with a sharp intake of breath through his nose. Aziraphale responded immediately, his hips rolling into Crowley’s, moaning into Crowley’s mouth. Aziraphale spread himself open, immediately, ready to accept whatever Crowley had to give him. It should have hurt: the way that Aziraphale moaned when Crowley growled, when Crowley put a hand at neck. It didn’t. It urged Crowley forward.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley hissed. “I’m going to fuck you; do you hear me? I’m going to knot you, and when you’re grinding down on my cock, I’m going to bite you until you’re mine. Do you understand?”

Aziraphale nodded hurriedly.

“I’m _never_ letting you go,” Crowley growled, and he dug his fingers underneath the collar and _yanked_.

The collar shattered and snapped and revealed the pale expanse of Aziraphale’s neck. The smell of him was sweet and everything Crowley had ever wanted. He was desperate to make Aziraphale his. The second he could have his teeth on Aziraphale’s neck, he did. Biting, nipping, and sucking little marks into him. Aziraphale trembled. He should have been afraid of such a display, but he just tilted his head to the side to better feel the sharp of Crowley’s teeth.

Crowley’s hands hadn’t stopped, either. With the collar broken, the dress would have just slipped off. Crowley didn’t _care_ about that. He grabbed it in his hands and ripped it; the sound of the tear had Aziraphale’s moaning, again. Crowley had to pull back to keep tearing, but it wasn’t long before Aziraphale’s body was bare to him. Every inch of skin would belong to him, one day. He would take his _time_, one day, and spread out his fingers, his lips, all over Aziraphale.

“Fuck, look at you,” Crowley groaned. He rutted his hips into Aziraphale’s, the rough of his serving pants into the sensitive skin of Aziraphale’s cunt.

Aziraphale was leaking, shivering, making a _mess_ of himself. His eyes were glazed over with lust, with need. He was so, absolutely wet; Crowley could smell the slick of him. He wanted to taste it. He wanted to dig his tongue through the Aziraphale’s folds and have him shudder with ecstasy, but there wasn’t space. He could slip his hand down between them, though, and press his fingers through the slick mess while they kissed.

Aziraphale groaned into that kiss, bucking his hips down onto Crowley’s fingers. He needed something inside of him, anything—he’d take anything Crowley would give him. He was well rewarded with Crowley’s index finger dipping inside him, Crowley’s thumb over his clit. Aziraphale nearly shouted with the pleasure of it. Sandalphon had never touched him like that. He’d never felt so good, so soon. It was like he could come, already, on Crowley’s finger. His _finger_.

Crowley used his free hand to press down over Aziraphale’s chest, to squeeze his extra fat and roll his nipple. Aziraphale responded with a loud shout through their kiss, and Crowley _groaned_. Aziraphale had a sensitive chest, and Crowley was going to use that to his advantage. He made sure Aziraphale had one final, hard kiss before he pulled away to mouth over Aziraphale’s other nipple. Aziraphale’s entire body spasmed at the sudden touch of tongue, of wet heat. His thighs clenched around Crowley’s, and he gushed over Crowley’s hand.

Crowley was aching in his pants; the sound of that had been everything. His hand was wet, and he was sure his backseat leather was not going to survive this. He didn’t care. He slipped a second finger into Aziraphale’s cunt while he sucked over his nipple, and Aziraphale _keened_. The sudden rush of it had Aziraphale’s hands jerking up to grab at Crowley’s hair, to ground himself. He managed to fight with the hair-tie keeping part of Crowley’s hair up in a bun, and Aziraphale moaned when he watched Crowley’s hair fall out. Crowley pulled back.

“I—I’m sorry,” Aziraphale whimpered. “I shouldn’t touch. I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

“Fuck that,” Crowley hissed. He leaned forward and smashed their lips together. He hooked his fingers and swallowed Aziraphale’s scream. “Touch, talk, do whatever you want,” Crowley panted out. “You’re going to be mine. Fuck—say it.”

“Yours,” Aziraphale gasped. He rolled his hips down to meet Crowley’s fingers when third one pressed inside. Aziraphale keened. “Oh, I want to be yours, Crowley, please. Please, fuck me. Bite me, mark me, _make_ me yours. I want it—I want it so bad.”

“I can tell,” Crowley grinned. He pinched Aziraphale’s nipple, and Aziraphale let out the cutest little squeak. “Fuck, you’re desperate for this. Never been given a proper knot, have you? Never had a _real_ alpha fuck you.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “You, you, you—” he cried out.

“Yeah, don’t worry. I’ll give your cunt a good fuck. I know how bad you need this. Tell me how bad you need me.”

“So bad,” Aziraphale gasped. “Crowley, please. I need you inside me; I need you to fuck me. I want to come on your knot. I want you to bite me. I want you to _breed_ me, Crowley, oh, please!”

A growl erupted out of Crowley’s throat. “Such a good little pup. We’ll take good care of you, we will. Fuck you nice and full, leave you fat with it. Hands and knees, omega.”

Aziraphale scrambled to comply, rolling the best he could in the cramped space. While he moved, Crowley made quick work of his trousers. He nearly broke off the button in his haste to get them open, and then, he was pushing everything down just far enough to free his cock from its confines. By then, Aziraphale had his face on the seat, and his ass up in the air. The smell of him was even more intense, and Crowley could _see_ the dripping wet mess of his quim.

“So good for me,” Crowley whispered. He leaned down to run kisses over the curve of Aziraphale’s rear, and Aziraphale shuddered in response. “I’m going to breed you, little pup. I’m going to make you_ mine;_ do you understand? Oh, you’re going to look so _good_ fat with my baby, aren’t you? _Fuck_,” Crowley hissed. He stroked himself, spreading the dripping precum down his shaft.

Aziraphale was so wet that Crowley wouldn’t need the extra help, but he liked it. He wanted it as wet and messy as possible. It was more _fun_ like that; he’d heard, anyway. Aziraphale was the first omega he’d ever had, and he was going to savor that when he pushed inside of him. But first, a taste. Crowley couldn’t help himself. Something inside of him was having him lean forward to press his lips into Aziraphale’s dripping cunt. And oh, how Aziraphale shivered for him.

“C-Crowley,” Aziraphale gasped. All Crowley was doing was _kissing_, smelling. Feeling the soft skin of his quim. It was everything, all at once. Aziraphale’s thighs trembled in response, and he bucked his hips back.

When Crowley’s _tongue_ entered the equation, Aziraphale let out a loud shout. Crowley licked right through him like he was the tastiest lolly Crowley had ever had. Crowley lapped at him, right through his folds. He even just licked at the skin of his vulva, just to see how sensitive Aziraphale was. His entire body was on fire with that pleasure, and Crowley had no intentions of stopping. When he licked through another time, his tongue stopped over Aziraphale’s hole.

“Oh! Crowley!” Aziraphale cried. He pushed back onto Crowley’s tongue, crying for it. Begging for it. He needed _more_, if that were possible. He needed Crowley’s cock. He needed Crowley’s _bite_.

“You taste as desperate as you sound,” Crowley chuckled to himself. “_Fuck_, you’re mine. You’re _mine_, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale reached behind himself to grab at his skin and _spread_ it. “Please, Alpha—fuck me. Please, please. I need you!”

Crowley slid his hands down over the swell of Aziraphale’s ass and gave his cunt one final lick, for good measure. To taste him. Only then did Crowley rise up and brace himself on the small of Aziraphale’s back. He guided his cock against Aziraphale’s cunt, then, and Aziraphale shivered in response. Crowley didn’t press forward, though. He just rubbed his cockhead through the slick warmth of that cunt and _shuddered_ in response. He was going to enjoy this. He was going to _love_ this.

When Crowley finally, finally breached him, Aziraphale cried out. He wanted to roll back, to impale himself on Crowley’s cock and fuck himself; but he didn’t. He couldn’t. Crowley kept a tight hold on Aziraphale’s hips to control what he could have, and it was a slow, slow press forward. Aziraphale’s entire body spasmed around Crowley, and he’d finished a second time before Crowley had even bottomed out. But then, Crowley’s hips were pressed right up against him, and he was draping himself over Aziraphale’s back.

He slipped a hand around Aziraphale’s neck and held him, there, with just enough pressure that Aziraphale’s entire body stilled beneath him. Crowley stroked the soft skin over his Adam’s apple with his thumb, kissing around the nape of Aziraphale’s neck. Aziraphale submitted, immediately. He relaxed, he tilted his head so there was plenty of access to his neck, and he closed his eyes.

“There’s a good pup,” Crowley whispered. “Nice and ready for me. Does it feel good? Having my cock stuffed inside you?”

Aziraphale nodded. “It—it’s—” but he couldn’t form the words. His entire mind was overwhelmed with _need_.

Crowley slid his free hand through Aziraphale’s hair and took a tight grasp of it. With that and his hand on Aziraphale’s neck, Aziraphale was entirely at his mercy. Crowley started his pace, and it was _rough_. His hips slammed into Aziraphale with every fuck forward, and Aziraphale cried out in response. He couldn’t move away from it, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to fuck himself back on Crowley’s cock; he wanted to take as much of it into himself as he could.

The stretch of him was impressive all on its own, but Crowley’s cock was _long_. It reached and pressed into every crevice inside of Aziraphale and had him gasping, crying out for more. There was that spot just inside of him that had Aziraphale seeing stars, and every thrust brushed right up against it. All Aziraphale could do was take it, every hard thrust that Crowley had for him. The pleasure thrummed through his body; he’d never felt so _possessed_.

“Touch yourself for me,” Crowley growled. “Get your fingers down there and show me how desperate your little cunt is.”

Aziraphale was desperate to do anything Crowley told him, so he propped himself up on one elbow and reached down for his cunt with his hand. When his fingers slid through his folds, Aziraphale gasped out. Crowley had slowed, but at that _sound_ Aziraphale had let out, he redoubled his force. He fucked forward with all the strength he could muster, and Aziraphale let out a whimpering cry. He dared a touch lower, around his hole, to feel Crowley disappear into him over and over again.

Crowley let out a deep, possessive rumble at that. He reached back with his own hand, letting Aziraphale’s hair go, and grabbed Aziraphale’s hand between his thighs. He pressed Aziraphale’s fingers into his clit, forcibly, and drank up his responsive moans.

“You do what I tell you,” Crowley said. “Do you understand?”

Aziraphale nodded quickly. “I’m sorry, Alpha. I’m sorry—” Aziraphale cut off in a broken, whimpering moan. Crowley was leading his fingers through his cunt, over his clit, around his folds. He’d never been told to touch himself, before—his curiosity had gotten the best of him. Now, Crowley seemed to be _teaching_ him what to do with a very hands-on demonstration. Aziraphale’s thighs trembled in response.

“I’m going to take my time with you,” Crowley whispered. “This is just the beginning. I’m going to take you home and listen to you beg for my cock. Just when you think that you can’t have it, I’ll fuck you for the rest of the night. I’ll fuck my knot into you, and while you’re stuffed with it, I’ll shove my fingers up your arse and have you coming all over again.”

“Y-yes,” Aziraphale cried. “Yes, please, anything—I need your knot. Crowley, Crowley—” Aziraphale moaned. He couldn’t say anything other than Crowley’s name, and Crowley seemed to respond better to it than _alpha_.

“That’s right,” Crowley hissed. “Say my name. Remember who’s fucking you. Who do you belong to?”

“Crowley, Crowley, Crowley—” Aziraphale gasped.

He was close. Crowley was close, too. His hips were stuttering, and there was this deep, rumbling growl from the pit of his stomach. Aziraphale could already feel the swell at the base of his cock each time Crowley bottomed out inside of him. Aziraphale clenched down around Crowley, then, and the noise Crowley made had Aziraphale shuddering in response. He sounded _pleased_, and that made Aziraphale preen. He wanted to please his alpha. If Crowley was pleased, he would come inside. He would knot. He would _bite_.

“_Fuck_,” Crowley groaned. “Fuck, fuck—_fuck!_ You’re so fucking good, aren’t you? Perfect little pup. Perfect _fuck_. I’m close, angel, I’m close. I’m going to knot you.”

Aziraphale nodded hurriedly, crying out for it. He wanted it. He was desperate for it. He fucked himself back over Crowley’s cock until everything was suddenly too much, too much. Aziraphale moaned with his new-found pleasure. Crowley’s knot was swelling, catching on his hole with every fuck, until it wasn’t. All Crowley could do was rock his hips and groan with his climax. He came inside of Aziraphale in streams of seed, and Aziraphale shuddered around him, pushing back.

But that wasn’t even the part that mattered. There were tears pouring from Aziraphale’s eyes when he felt that bite at the back of his neck. Crowley had leaned over him, still rocking their hips together, still trying to bring Aziraphale to another climax—and he’d _bitten_ down. He’d broken right through Aziraphale’s skin, right at the space of neck beneath his ear. The pain had been sharp, all at once, and disappeared just as fast. It was replaced with _love, _and Aziraphale cried for it.

Aziraphale had been told how burdensome bond marks were. They were marks of ownership. They were an alpha laying claim on their omega, so no other alpha could ever have them again. That’s now how this felt. Crowley’s bite felt like a swell of love and affection and _protection_. Crowley hadn’t just done this because it would save Aziraphale from Sandalphon’s bite, he’d done it because he wanted to. He wanted Aziraphale to wear his bond mark, and he wanted Aziraphale to wear it high, somewhere it couldn’t be covered.

After a moment, everything died down. Crowley had one his hands carding through Aziraphale’s hands, trying to soothe him, and he licked over the new wound. It would take weeks to heal, at best, but it would scar beautifully. Aziraphale was _his_, now, and that’s all that mattered. Crowley felt that sudden swell of pride in his chest; he’d wanted this for longer than he knew. It was horribly unorthodox, but they would have time to figure it out. Not too much time, at first.

It took about fifteen minutes for Crowley’s knot to die down, and he pulled back immediately. Without anything holding him up, Aziraphale dropped down to his side, and Crowley laid over him. There was a mess to clean up; both physical and not. There was every chance that Sandalphon knew his omega had just been stolen. They couldn’t linger for too long, here. They had to get someplace safe, or at least, off the streets. Crowley pressed a quick kiss into Aziraphale’s temple.

“How do you feel?”

Aziraphale nodded. “My heat—it’s just a down moment. It hadn’t really started, but it will soon.”

“Okay. We’ll make sure we’re somewhere comfortable for that. I need to drive for that, though, is that okay?”

Aziraphale gave Crowley a strange look.

“We just _bonded_, angel,” Crowley said, softly. “I don’t want you to feel like I’ve abandoned you. I’ll be just up front.”

Oh. Aziraphale sniffed. That was entirely too considerate of him, and Aziraphale would be lying if he said he didn’t love the idea of a considerate, attentive alpha. It’s how the alphas were in stories, anyway; the world Aziraphale had lived in had almost destroyed that idea. Crowley was going to slowly try and repair it.

“I’ll be okay,” Aziraphale whispered. “Do you have any—” Aziraphale stopped himself.

“What is it?”

“I shouldn’t,” Aziraphale shook his head.

“Please, Aziraphale. What do you need?” Crowley soothed his hand through Aziraphale’s curls again.

“C-clothes, or a blanket, or something,” Aziraphale muttered. He kept his glance away, afraid that it would send Crowley into a fit of rage. There were times when Sandalphon hadn’t let him wear clothes. There had been a week where, on a whim, Sandalphon hadn’t let _any_ of his omegas wear clothes.

Crowley didn’t shout, and he didn’t scream. Instead, he unbuttoned his white suit jacket and draped it over Aziraphale, to the best that he could. He’d straightened his trousers up in the process. Where the jacket didn’t cover much, it was still the _gesture_. Aziraphale thought he might cry again.

“That’s all I have for now, but we’ll get you somewhere safe. I promise. It’ll be just a bit, alright?”

Aziraphale nodded.

Crowley used the torn bits of Aziraphale’s dress to clean Aziraphale, to clean the sheets, and that was the end of it. Crowley removed himself from the backseat to move into the driver’s seat, instead. Aziraphale’s whimper was almost immediate, and Aziraphale hadn’t been expecting it. He _did_ feel lonely, suddenly. Not having Crowley touching him left him with an ache, an emptiness. He tried to remind himself that Crowley had to drive, but the whimpering. He couldn’t stop it.

“It’s okay, pup,” Crowley said. Once he’d started the car and gotten it back out onto the road, he reached back for Aziraphale to slip their hands together. Aziraphale’s whimpering silenced almost immediately. “We’ll get you home soon, okay?”

Aziraphale hummed in response. He squeezed his fingers around Crowley’s and brushed over Crowley’s knuckles with his thumb. Home sounded nice, even if he didn’t really know what it meant. It would be with Crowley; that much he knew. Crowley hadn’t intended to just bite him and throw him to the side, even if Aziraphale had offered that. Aziraphale would have been fine to be Crowley’s side omega, if that’s what it took. All he’d needed was the bite.

He was getting Crowley, though. He was. Crowley was going to be his alpha, in every form of the word. Aziraphale could feel it in the throbbing on his neck, that Crowley intended to take care of him. Aziraphale had never felt gladder for it. He felt content, even just watching through the windshield, listening to Crowley shout at other drivers.

Home turned out to be Crowley’s apartment, which was a bit of a struggle to get into. They had to be quick, on account of how little clothes Aziraphale had, but once they were inside with the doors locked, Aziraphale felt instantly safer than he’d ever been. The whole place smelled like Crowley, like his _alpha_, and the first thing Crowley did was provide him with clothes. Aziraphale didn’t think that they belonged to Crowley, not with the size of them, but he didn’t question it.

Aziraphale was shown the bathroom, too. Crowley explained the intricacies of his shower, which was in desperate need of repair, but he was pretty sure he’d just lost his job. Then, while Aziraphale showered, Crowley started to cook something up. Aziraphale could smell the _pancakes_ before he’d even gotten out of the water, and it just made him feel warmer. Crowley was going to feed him before his heat returned, full force. Not just food, but _pancakes_—his favorite.

Aziraphale dressed in the clothes he’d been given, some baggy black sweatpants and a button up shirt, and joined Crowley in the kitchen. Crowley had plated the pancakes and served them on the counter; he didn’t appear to have a dining table of any sort. Aziraphale didn’t care; he’d never eaten pancakes that were so good. He’d never eaten _anything_ that was so good. Sandalphon had treated them like dogs, at the best of times. Sometimes, fed them like dogs, too.

“How are you feeling?” Crowley asked, mouth full of pancakes.

“Hot,” Aziraphale responded. “It’ll be back soon.”

“I’ve got condoms,” Crowley said. “You don’t have to worry about that whole, you know. Baby thing. It’s fun talk, yeah, but I wouldn’t, like. I mean, it’s been a decade since we saw each other.”

Aziraphale smiled, and his face flushed.

They finished eating their pancakes. Crowley did the dishes, and when he was done, it was because he could smell Aziraphale’s heat. There were still suds in the sink when Crowley abandoned it in trade for his hands on Aziraphale’s hips. Crowley led him down the hall, to the bedroom, and Aziraphale nearly moaned at the feeling of a mattress beneath him.

Before Crowley even so much as kissed Aziraphale, he promised that they would talk. They’d get through Aziraphale’s heat, and then, they would sort everything out. They’d catch up, Aziraphale would explain what had happened, and Crowley would promise to take care of him. They’d figure out the future, after Aziraphale’s heat. Neither of them would be able to think until it was over, so it was a good promise.

If anyone else would have made that promise, Aziraphale wouldn’t have believed them. He believed Crowley. He trusted Crowley. When Crowley leaned down to kiss him, he _wanted_ Crowley. There was time to figure out the rest, later, but in that moment, Aziraphale was panting with his want, again. He was sweaty, hot. He needed Crowley inside of him, and Crowley was happy to oblige. Just as he promised—with a condom.

**Author's Note:**

> 𓆏  
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